Cold
by Digitaldreamer
Summary: Ryan Howard has everything he ever wanted, right? He doesn't miss Scranton at all. Really.


**-Cold-**

**An Office Drabble by Digitaldreamer**

**---**

_And this is why I should not be allowed to rent DVDs and get myself addicted to new series._

_...Yeah, hi, I'm Digitaldreamer and I just got into this show a few weeks ago due to renting the first two seasons of The Office on a friend's advice. First I thought it was kind of dull, then somewhat amusing, and then quite suddenly I was addicted, reading fanfiction obsessively and celebrating every Thursday as if it were a holiday._

_So yeah...I haven''t seen every episode ever, but I've seen season one, two, half of season three and now season four...and I have to say I find Ryan's changes incredibly intriguing. Jim is my favorite character, but something about Ryan and the way he contrasts with everyone else in Scranton caught my attention and I kind of just had to get into his head. Something tells me with all that showing off he isn't nearly as happy with his wealth and success as one would think...in fact, really, it seems a bit empty._

_Thus this crappy melodramatic ramble was made, something that will probably make you cringe upon reading. So yeah...this is really pretty serious and I don't know if I got everything right, so please don't feel obligated to read this and scar your brain._

_...right, I'll shut up now. Feedback is greatly appreciated it, be it saying this is decent or giving me some sound criticism. Criticism would be especially good, actually..._

_So yeah...er...enjoy, and please, don't throw anything rotten at me._

**Disclaimer: Yeah, The Office not mine. Because if it was it would fail a lot and none of us would be writing fanfiction for it.**

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It's late when the lock to Ryan Howard's contemporary Manhattan apartment clicks, signifying it's owner has returned. The young man says nothing as he pulls open the door and steps inside.

There's no one to greet him, of course. No aggravating roommates, no pets, no flashing light on the answering machine signifying roughly fifty missed calls from a clingy, overly-talkitive girlfriend...nothing. Just an empty apartment.

He likes it that way, of course. Just him means he has no one to clean after, he really can't stand animals, and as for the girlfriend...

The young man shakes his head, not even really bothering to flick on the lights as he passes the shimmering, spotless modern countertops and stainless steel appliances that make up his kitchen. He weaves around his black leather couch and glass coffee table, pays no attention to the large plasma screen TV, the tasteful, but bland, plainly painted walls. It's all very sleek, very modern.

Very lonely.

Not that such a thing matters. He has plenty of friends, plenty of guys just like him to hang and laugh with at the upscale bars, restaurants, and clubs when he's actually not working...not that such a thing happens very often. He's certainly rich now, he can _buy_ friends if he wants. They're all just a call away, glad to go wherever he wants.

As long as he's paying, anyway.

He makes his way to his room, shrugs off his heavy suit jacket and tosses it aside, loosening his tie along with it. Long fingers pause to scratch at the stubble that's supposed to be a beard.

Really, it itches a lot and is insanely uncomfortable, but he's not going to admit it.

Ryan flops onto the bed with a heavy breath, the expensive, dark sheets making a soft "plumph!" sound as he sinks into them and gazes at the ceiling. The bed is really too big for one...but that's how it is here, isn't it? He lays there, dark blue eyes gazing upward, fingers playing absently with rigid shirt buttons, and he can almost imagine she's still there, talking and talking and even though he finds it the most aggravating thing in the world her fingers are soft so--

No. He doesn't miss her. Not at all. He couldn't stand her, never could. And it wasn't like it mattered anyway, because he could have _any_ girl he wanted now.

...well, not _any_ girl. The memory of light brown eyebrows quirking at him from a nearby desk as calm green eyes easily reject him comes to mind and he scowls.

He isn't jealous. Ryan is not jealous. He does not care that Jim Halpert finally managed to get the girl he was drooling after for years finally got what he wanted. Jim was still in Scranton, living a pointless, stagnant existence, always in the same place, never looking forward. Ryan was definitely not jealous of that. He was far happier anyway...he'd accomplished far more, he made far more money in less time than anyone back at that stupid, lazy little office ever had. He was going farther than Jim ever had, why should he care if Jim finally got the girl?

It wasn't like it would last anyway. Office relationships were pointless. They got in the way of what was important.

He's happier than Jim Halpert ever could be.

He's happier than any of them ever could be. He has money, he has success, he has a _career_, a life. He has his apartment, his money, he's at the top of the corporate ladder...he's almost always working, but it's for progress. He doesn't mind the fact that everyone here in the city has no real connections, that it's all fake smiles and acquaintances only, that it's all about business and keeping a poker face, because that's all he wanted.

He doesn't miss lazy Scranton. He doesn't miss the occasional warm smiles, he doesn't miss the way everyone knew everyone, he doesn't miss Michael's stupid grin and attempts to be "friends first" , he doesn't miss Jim's "Jimming", he doesn't miss the way Kelly's jabbering would always filter into a happy,, comfortable sort of background music even when he wouldn't admit it, he doesn't miss Creed's craziness, he doesn't miss the way Dwight had tried to "take him under his wing", he doesn't miss any of it. He doesn't miss the way he would feel the wall he'd erected between himself and all those people he couldn't stand crack, the way he'd sometimes really smile and notice that it hurt because of how rare such an action it was, the way occasionally he _would_ join in on everyone's stupid schemes and have fun, though he'd never admit it...he doesn't miss the way she could coax him out of himself.

He doesn't miss any of it at all.

Ryan let a breath hiss out between his teeth and stood, walking over to the thermostat and changing it. In his opinion, Scranton had always been too warm until about December, and New York was not much better. He prefers it so cold that he needs thick, sleek black coats and scarfs, and even then it should be so cold it burns. Not ridiculously warm so they can all pretend they're in Jamaica, not with the sun beating down on him as Michael demands to know why his shorts aren't_shorter_, not so warm that her touch makes him burn, not--

Clearly he's going insane. He needs to stop thinking about them. It's not like he can help it, he hated it there. Of course it'd be hard to forget.

Yes, it was definitely because he hated it. Hated all of them. He didn't miss it at all.

And so Ryan lay there in his dark, quiet, spacious Manhattan apartment, all alone and gazing up at the dark ceiling. Just him and his dark expensive sheets and the frigid gale from the air conditioning that's enough to send goose flesh prickling along his arms and legs.

Just him in his rich little apartment, utterly alone. He's cold as ice and he likes it that way.

Really.

**-End-**

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_Reviews are greatly appreciated!_**  
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